Transformations
by Darke Angelus
Summary: For the eight Heroes of Stern Bild, each one of them had a specific time, place, and reason why their NEXT powers awakened when they did. Here is each Hero's "moment" spotlighted in amazing detail. COMPLETE
1. The First NEXT

Transformations (c) 2012 Darke Angelus

**This tale was inspired by a prompt found at the Tiger and Bunny Anon Meme at Dreamwidth dot org. that requested back stories of the Heroes discovering their powers for the first time.**

**A/N: With the exception of a few ages revealed as canon, virtually everything else that you will read here is the creation of my own warped imagination. Take note that there is some extremely disturbing content (all confined to the last chapter "Wild Tiger") so consider yourself forewarned.**

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><p>In NC 1932, the first documented case of a person exhibiting the "awakening" of NEXT powers had been that of a luckless South American missionary suffering from malaria in a hospice near the Congo. The entire ordeal was caught on videocassette and on about three dozen rolls of film by a reporting team from TIME Life News. The lead reporter went on to receive the Pulitzer prize for his discovery in what, arguably, was considered the greatest story of the decade, if not the century.<p>

The missionary, a Guatemalan priest named Ernesto y Nieva, had succumbed to the late stages of fever and delusions of the illness and was entirely oblivious to his first, and ultimately last, display of power. Raving on about Jesus in his native language, Ernesto's emaciated, sweat-drenched body began to glow blue, barely perceptible at first but quickly growing in intensity. His brown eyes transformed into two piercing blue sapphires. He began levitating off of the bed to the astonishment of patients, a nurse, two nuns, and the four-man TIME life team. Moaning, Ernesto began steadily gaining altitude until his weakly thrashing body collided with the thin, tarpaulin-patched mess that was the mission roof. He eventually worked his way through this flimsy barrier and continued to go up into the air.

The news team ran outside the hospice and the video recorder kept Ernesto in its sights, following in his steady ascent into the clear blue sky. By now, the priest was becoming semi-aware of his surroundings and exultant that God had chosen to raise him up into Heaven. _Hallelujah! Praise Jesus! _Unfortunately, at an altitude of about seven hundred feet in the air, God seemed to grow bored with the whole affair and the blue aura around Ernesto suddenly winked out. Screaming, the man plummeted to his ungraceful death, landing right back into his own death bed.

Understandably, the footage was carefully evaluated when the group returned stateside and the entire incident was about to be scrapped by a suspicious Editor-in-chief. At around that same point in time, another news story began to cross the wires; this one about a man named Mikhail Petrov in Stern Bild City who was exhibiting some rather fantastic abilities and was quite public about displaying them. That man would go on to become the first Hero named Mr. Legend but, in terms of timing where his powers were concerned, he was actually the second documented case (to the indescribable relief of the TIME life reporter). Soon after that, the phenomena began appearing everywhere. There was simply no discernable rhyme or reason in who would turn into a Noted Entity with eXtraordinary Talent(s). The demographic was as intangible as the geographical region and the cases accelerated quickly, inciting a widespread panic that was common among a populace exposed to anything strange or misunderstood.

Scientists were at their wits-end trying to find an explanation for what was dubbed an "epidemic" (although only affecting 1 out of 200,000 people, it could hardly be considered a plague). Everything was put into question: The environment, the water supply, sun spots, the ozone layer, global warming, the magnetosphere, and so on. The focus gradually turned inward. The culprit was narrowed down to one innocuous mutated gene nestled deep in what had previously been considered dormant DNA. What caused the catalyst or trigger that unlocked that little cluster of chromosomes was just as unknown as the power it would inevitably reveal.

When the cases were all grouped together and classified, it essentially boiled down to this: Eighty-nine percent of NEXTs were really just borderline mutations; fast hair growth, elastic skin, other odd abilities. They were fascinating subjects to study but had no real practical application, and were certainly not considered threatening. If all instances had stuck to that kind of uselessness, nobody would have paid it more mind than a circus freak show. Unfortunately, the power sometimes took a more potent, concentrated turn. Five percent were intellect based abilities: crazed geniuses, prophetic artists, telepaths, and kinetics. After that, the classifications began to blur with the identification of what could only be labelled elemental-based powers. The proverbial earth, air, water, and fire types with amazing variations among the three percent gifted enough to be able to wield that ability without dying from it first. Many military organizations recognized the applications for defense and long distance combat and quietly enfolded many such NEXTs into clandestine operations, never to be seen or heard from again (at least not in social circles). Two percent were considered offense-type bruisers: The super strong or invulnerable types that had civilian police forces practically at their wits end because they were responsible for causing the most property damage. The final one percent were considered unclassifiable. They were the select few whose power defied all laws of physics or reason and delved far into the fringe side of the scientific spectrum.

It was a flip of the coin, a chance of fate, a roll of the dice. All people possessed the dormant gene in their genome, silently lying in there like a defective switch to a potential Hydrogen bomb. Nobody knew why it would suddenly become active in one person and why someone else would stay normal. Popular belief was that it took an immense emotional shock to trigger the gene to action.

That theory seemed supported by the personal histories of Stern Bild's current roster of Heroes: Eight charismatic individuals of varying races and ages.


	2. Barnaby Brooks Jr

In Barnaby Brooks Jr.'s case, his NEXT power activated because the titty became off-limits.

Despite their high academic standing, or perhaps in spite of it, Barnaby Brooks Sr. and his wife Emily were free spirits at heart and resolved that if they were ever fortunate to be gifted with a child, they were damned well going to do it by the book. After a series of distressing miscarriages, the pair were set to adopt a child until Emily, then 38, finally carried a child to term. Born on Halloween and weighing a respectable 7 pounds 5 ounces, Barnaby was given a clean bill of health despite having a body temperature several degrees lower than the norm. It didn't seem to affect him negatively and the new parents were thrilled.

Emily elected to breastfeed their son, a practise that was looked down upon by her lofty, scientific peers. She brought the child to work and at any given time could be seen sitting in the corner of the lab, office, or cafeteria with a blanket discreetly pulled over her shoulder and suckling newborn. If anyone thought to come forward and dare raise voice to a protest, they were struck in their tracks by a withering glare from the proud mother. Emily was renowned for her ability to verbally eviscerate anyone with just a few select words (it was a trait her son would inherit, along with her blond hair and eye color), and her colleagues wisely left her to her business.

Young Barnaby, of course, was oblivious to the controversy and wouldn't have cared even if he'd been aware of it. He was getting what he wanted and liked it that way, thank you very much. By the age of two he had developed a breast fixation and Emily was advised by her pediatrician to start weaning him. Due to the string of early miscarriages Emily found it near-impossible to deny her son anything that he wanted (or demanded), but even she had to concede that the sight of her precocious 24-month old son hanging off her tit was beginning to appear a trifle odd. When the boy came up to her for one of his routine snacks, she finally had the nerve to tell him, "No".

It didn't go over well. In fact it created a weaning conflict that became downright violent. Barnaby's green eyes widened in amazement at this sudden refusal to a place that had always meant comfort and nourishment. When Emily had the further gall to try and feed him a spoonful of mushed carrots, those mint green eyes turned fiercely blue and he rushed at her, his small form glowing. He knocked her to the floor, ripped open her blouse, and went straight for the boob. Panicked, Emily managed to push him off. What little control of his power Barnaby possessed faded and he tumbled backwards to collide against the kitchen wall. When Brooks Sr. came into the house to try and find out what all the ruckus was about, he found both his wife and son lost to inconsolable tears.

Despite feeling tremendous guilt, Emily maintained the line. Being a small child Barnaby quickly forgot about the allure of his mother's milk as he accepted far more appetizing fare, but he had a spoiled streak and wasn't above using power-ups to get his own way. His parents didn't deny him much one way or the other, so such intimidation tactics were rarely used. Over the following two years, Barnaby never knew his parents had been trying to figure out their strange, empowered child (or how they could possibly integrate that ability into their research) right up to the night they were murdered.

Credit it to shock or trauma, or to his benefactor's ministrations, but Barnaby didn't utilize his powers again for years until Albert Maverick finally asked to see it. Shortly after that, Barnaby was sent off to boarding school and then the Hero Academy, and then set on the erratic path that finally sealed his destiny.


	3. Origami Cyclone

Ask anyone and they'd likely tell you that Ivan Karelin was a spooky kid. Even his parents would agree. Being Russian-immigrants in their adopted city of Boston, Massachusetts, they'd be quite honest about it. The kid was damned strange.

Ivan was one of those quiet, sulking types who always looked at someone from across a room following their every movement, until the person felt the weight of that probing gaze and looked back. By then, Ivan would either drift away to find another target, or simply drop his eyes in embarrassment and shuffle his feet. He was incredibly shy and introverted and didn't make friends easily. In junior high school, he went from class to class with his violet-colored eyes rarely straying any further than the floor or his desk. Although interested in geek-inspired extra-curricular activities like the Chess club and Film, he never participated, even when invited.

He found his greatest pleasure watching anime in the security of his bedroom and was quite a talented artist, even if the majority of his artworks featured big-bosomed, huge-eyed chicks in extremely short skirts. He became fascinated with Japanese art and culture. One of his favorite cartoons was Sailor Moon, but it was the lesbian duo Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune that really caught his interest (and imagination). He even credited the pair to his first wet dream. It wasn't until, at the age of fourteen, he discovered Hentai on the computer that his world really opened up. In artistic terms, he became quite fascinated by the beauty and grace of the female form (In layman's terms, he became a peeping Tom).

Being a quiet and studious teen, he was extra-ordinarily good at going unnoticed. He was beginning to realize that he could stay in the background of practically any environment he stood against and remain unnoticed by the people who passed by. It didn't dawn on him that it was any kind of a power, although NEXTs were well known by then. He just figured he wasn't an important enough person to be noticed. Growing bolder and bolder, he tested the limits of his anonymity. First, he hung around the gym when the cheerleaders were practising. Gradually, he began drifting down the hall towards the girls locker room. This took place over a progression of months before he finally worked up the nerve to actually go inside. Pressed up against one wall, he waited and watched as a girls soccer team entered the room; a chaotic blast of catty comments, shrieks, and laughter. Ivan remained where he was, unable to move even if he'd wanted to, his erection pressing against the fly of his cargo pants with almost painful force. He was barely able to process the parade of half-clothed beauties that undressed, showered, and redressed, all in front of his shocked, amazed eyes. It wasn't until he rubbed his crotch that one girl looked over in his direction, frowning slightly. "Hey, guys? Is there something wrong with that wall?"

Ivan shivered as a group of girls, some still nude, began to come closer. With that action, the chameleon-blend he had taken against the pink-tiled wall moved with him and the girls began screaming. Ivan looked at his hand and realizing that he was glowing. At around the same time the girls attacked and, belonging to the soccer team, the bitches could kick like mules. Howling in pain and completely out of his element, Ivan fled the locker room, his body absorbing and reflecting the textures of the surfaces he encountered in a mesmerizing display. A group of the girls chased after him uttering death threats. Rounding a corner, Ivan caught sight of some janitor mopping the floor and something clicked on in his mind. A second later, he _was_ that janitor, running at a mad sprint down the hall and ducking out of sight as the group attacked the poor old man in his stead.

It wasn't until the next day, when he'd heard that the innocent janitor was going to lose his job for spying on the girls, that he turned himself in to the principal's office. The school officiate was going to send him on his way until Ivan impersonated his secretary to prove he wasn't lying. Ivan was immediately suspended. Phone calls were made.

One week later he was standing on the front steps of the renowned Hero Academy at Stern Bild. He actually didn't mind the transfer. For the very first time in his life he didn't feel quite like an outsider any more. That liberation continued to evolve when he met a teenager named Edward Keddy, who eventually became his best friend and made him understand, the hard way, what the values of a Hero truly were about.


	4. Dragon Kid

The oldest of two siblings, Pao-Lin Huang would have been quite content to stay where she was and never be burdened with the responsibilities that came with being a cultural treasure and national celebrity. As previously explained, NEXT power didn't appear to give a damn in whom it activated.

Pao-Lin was born in Chengyang, a rural district of Qingdao in the Chinese province of Shandong, People's Republic of China. She spent the first seven years of her life in a sleepy little village that lied on the north bank of Jiaozhou Bay. Her father was fisherman and Pao-Lin enjoyed being on the boat even if it was considered bad luck for a woman to be onboard because, according to local folklore, they made the sea angry or jealous. Her father was a loving and conscientious man and didn't prescribe to the superstitions of his more uneducated peers, particularly not where his daughter was concerned. He enjoyed taking her out into the bay with him (even if his disgruntled crew voiced their displeasure amongst themselves in the background) and telling her tales about their ancestors. The Huang name had been long ingrained in Chinese history and could be tied all the way back to the start of Confucianism. Pao-Lin was honored to learn she had an uncle who was a revered Buddhist monk at the Azure Clouds Temple on Mount Tai.

"I'd love to see him sometime," she gushed.

"He usually remains in seclusion with his brothers," her father said, mending a net with skilled fingers while the boat rocked on the still water. "Your mother received a letter from him just the other day. He was . . . asking about you."

Her sea-green eyes sharpened on his face. "He was? Why?"

He gave a puzzled shake of the head and didn't answer right away. "He's a strange one. Always had dreams about things that would later came true. He became a disciple of the temple to try and learn to focus that ability."

"Is he a NEXT?"

"I never saw him turn blue," was all her father had to say of the issue.

"Oh."

"He wanted to know if anything strange had happened to you recently. He wasn't specific, as usual. Your mother said he was making some reference to a storm he had dreamt about."

"We get thunderstorms at least three times a week."

"I know. Still, nothing's happened to you, has it?"

"No, father," she said, and for the most part it was true. Lately, she'd felt strange when the air pressure dropped and instinctively knew if a storm front was headed into their area. When they hit she liked to watch the play of lightening dancing in the clouds, a dreamy expression on her face. Her small body sometimes vibrated like a tightly coiled spring during those displays, the cells of her body feeling energized and her muscles all jittery. It wasn't uncommon for her to give electric shocks to people and objects for hours afterwards.

It wasn't until a week later that circumstances changed, along with her life. She was at school when she felt her body begin tingling and knew that a storm was closing in quickly. Her desk was up beside the window and she watched the dark clouds strangle the blue out of the sky, almost hypnotized by the sight. She entirely forgot about the teacher and her fellow students as she watched the play of lights in the churning clouds. It wasn't until she watched one spear of lightening rocket down into the earth only a few short meters away from where she was seated did she begin to get alarmed. Then it happened two more times, the raw energy leaving behind huge smouldering divots in the ground. Panic-stricken, Pao-Lin jumped to her feet and managed to shout, "Something's wrong-!" before the classroom exploded.

The reverberating boom of the impact made her ears ache and it wasn't until she lay in the middle of the classroom amidst a spray of glass and splintered wood that she realized she had been hit by lightening. The most amazing fact was that she was still alive and miraculously unhurt. And glowing.

Pao-Lin held her glowing blue hands up to eye level and marvelled over what she was seeing, barely registering the stunned witnesses who were crowded against the far wall. She felt a mental warning dance on the edge of her perceptions and thrust her hands out just as another bolt of lightening burst in through the broken window and danced across her palms. A thought skittered across her dazed mind: _Away!_ and the bolt retreated and flashed back into the clouds. There were a few more disgruntled flashes of light but the storm eventually moved off.

Static rippled around Pao-Lin's body and her homeroom teacher commanded that she remain where she was and not touch anybody. This wounded the little girl the most because she could see that several of the students had been injured and felt acutely responsible for the destruction. Her body had acted as a divining rod to the lightening and she had been unconsciously luring the energy as she developed an affinity to it. She looked at her hands again through a mask of tears and tried to smother the power, reining down on her mind with a maturity that not even most adults could boast. The glow faded but not that hyper, charged after-effect that lingered in her body for hours afterward. By then, her parents had come to collect her, but they hadn't come alone. All Chinese institutions were instructed by the People's Liberation Army to immediately report any NEXT sighting. By command of the Central Military Commission Pao-Lin Huang was now in their custody.

She was studied and she was trained and she probably would have remained cloistered in some secret military establishment serving some undefined role if not for the National People's Congress's decision to utilize her ability in a very public way. She became a coveted export: The country's first Hero to be featured on live television and she took to the role with enthusiasm and poise far beyond her years.


	5. Rock Bison

To cement his advancement in the Trueno Toros gang, Antonio Lopez decided to steal a car.

It didn't matter that he was only fourteen. He had been pulling similar shit like that since he had been ten years old and tagging along on the heels of one of his older sisters, who was the girlfriend of the gang's current leader. He was growing up in a rough Spanish district that was called Little Havana and was used to using his size and strength to intimidate and coerce. He was big for his age, already six feet tall, and spoiled by his mother and sisters who were damn fine cooks. Nobody had the guts to call him fat, not to his face, but he was a husky teen and gaining notice in the gang for his fighting prowess. Antonio wanted to be more than just a bouncer or a lookout, but was told that he had to pull off something spectacular in order to move up in rank. So, he resolved that he was gonna steal a car, although it wasn't gonna just be _any_ car. Nope. His choice wasn't an expensive sports car or some European gas guzzling tank. Nope. What made this particular theft special was the fact that it was the Sherriff's patrol car, stolen right out of his own damned driveway.

Now that was a fucking masterstroke!

The district Sherriff was a no-nonsense badass who thought nothing of shooting after his vehicle as it peeled out of the yard and tore off down the street, tires screaming as Tony floored the accelerator. As an added touch, Antonio turned on the roof lightbar and goosed the siren every few seconds, braying excited laughter at his own ingenuity. The revolving red and blue lights bounced off of the nicely maintained homes of this upscale neighborhood and quickly woke the occupants. It also quickly attracted the attention of other patrol cars in the area.

Within minutes, Tony was the object of a high speed chase and he was barreling along better than a hundred miles an hour as he sped out of the district, heading for the mountains. He didn't know where he was going, or how he was going to get out of this mess. He hadn't really thought that far ahead, truth be told. His previous good humor was now completely gone and his huge hands were clenched around the steering wheel in a death grip as he kept flashing furtive glances to the rear view window. There had to be at least five cruisers riding his ass and the State Troopers were beginning to join in the chase. All of this shit over a stupid prank? Helluva waste of the public's tax dollars, don'tcha think fellas?

His body completely soaked in sweat, he negotiated the twists and turns of the mountain road as fast as he could go, the back end of the cruiser fishtailing, sending the tires spinning in gravel. Twice, he lost control and ran the passenger side along the guardrail, gritting his teeth against the grinding sound of metal on metal before managing to get control again. These mountain roads were a challenge enough at high noon and at the posted speed limit. Two in the morning and going like a bat out of hell was quite a different story and Tony was white as a sheet in terror. When he came around a blind turn he never even had a chance to avoid the spike strip another patrol had layed down just for his arrival. He sped over it, blowing out three of his four tires, and careened into the guardrail at almost fifty miles an hour. The car went through the metal barrier and plummeted over the edge of the mountain face, lights and siren still going strong.

_"Ah! SHIT!"_ Antonio screamed, raising his hands to his face. The car slammed into a hoary old pine and Tony was catapulted through the windshield and sent flying the rest of the four hundred foot drop straight down. He landed in a muddy stream that was more rocks than water, making an impact crater several feet deep. It was almost a full minute before he was able to lower his shaking hands and peer through his splayed fingers, blinking in amazement at his surroundings. He was . . . alive? How the fuck was that even possible?

He laid in the mud and looked up (and up) at the rotating lights of the police cars on the mountain where they were now investigating the place where the Sherriff's cruiser had gone through the rail. Several spotlights were swinging back and forth before finding the thoroughly thrashed vehicle about a hundred meters from where Tony was lying. He figured that he'd best get moving before that searchlight found him, but had trouble getting his limbs moving. He was still in shock and vaguely aware that he might have shit himself.

He staggered to his feet and had a terrified thought that he had been found, everything around him seemed tinged with blue light. It took a little bit more time before his stunned mind registered that it was his own body that was generating that ethereal glow.

"Huh." Antonio knew what that blue glow meant. He began chuckling, then giggling, and finally he bent over, holding his substantial stomach, screaming hysterical laughter. He couldn't seem to stop. It wasn't until something bounced off him and buzzed away like an angry hornet that he became aware of his surroundings again. The police had found him with their spotlights. Damned if the motherfuckers weren't firing at him!

Wasting no more time, Antonio hotfooted it out of there, grinning from ear to ear like a crazed fool. In his mind, not only had he managed to pull off the stunt of the goddamned century. He was also a fucking NEXT!

Needless to say, the leader of Trueno Toros never knew what hit him when Antonio showed up at the clubhouse late that afternoon. Tony's subsequent three years as leader of the gang were the absolute best ones of his entire life.


	6. Blue Rose

The official version of what Blue Rose revealed as the catalyst to her power activating for the first time was a far cry from the actual event. She told people that she had seen a little girl in the path of an oncoming car and had used her ice power to slide the child to safety. It was short, concise, believable. Just the type of tripe that Robert, her manager, was certain the public would eat right up, and he was right.

In reality, Karina Lyle blamed it on a game of Spin the Bottle that happened at her friend's birthday party. Emily turned thirteen, finally catching up to Karina and their other friend, Jane, and was permitted to have her first mixed-gender party at her home. As a bonus, she was allowed to have it downstairs in the rec room where her parents promised they wouldn't intrude (too often). Emily had an older sister who had some suggestions of some mighty interesting party games that her younger sibling was eager to try out.

Karina was, or course, oblivious to all of this when she arrived at the party, present in hand. Her brown eyes almost fell out of their sockets when she saw several boys from her homeroom class at the house. Among them was Whitley Mahelona, who she'd had a major crush on since the fifth grade. His father was Native Hawaiian and he had retained a great deal of his exotic Polynesian ancestry in his tanned, flawless skin, shaggy black hair, and almond-shaped eyes. There wasn't a girl in the seventh grade who didn't fancy Whitley in one form or another. The fact that Emily had managed to get him to come to her party was an amazing coup. One only surpassed by the appearance of a Hero or maybe a Rock star.

If it hadn't been for Emily's older sister acting as the party hostess, the entire affair might have been a disaster. At the start, the six boys hung out on one side of the room while the girls milled around nervously on the other. Once the sugar rush of pop and cake began making the rounds, tensions eased and the two groups began mingling.

One of the first innocuous suggestions from Emily's sister was the Lifesaver Game and it was an icebreaker if ever there was one. Everyone was given a toothpick and had to keep their hands behind their back or in their pockets. They were carefully arranged boy, girl, boy, girl, down the line (Karina noted with dismay that Whitley and Emily were next to each other while she was pressed between Saul Dover and Michael Larson, two boys she normally would never so much as give the time of day to). The person at the end of the line was given a Lifesaver on their toothpick and had to turn to the next person to try and transfer the Lifesaver to their toothpick without dropping it. It had to be passed on down the line without interruption. Who ever dropped the lifesaver was out of the game. All of the kids were such a bundle of nerves by their close proximity to each other that the floor was full of crushed candies by the time there was actually a victor.

From that adolescent trial of fire came another passing game, this one involving a CD and the participants using just their tongue. The boys were starting to get into the groove of things now, the girls continued to play it coy, even if it was a thinly veiled ruse. Karina accepted the spit-caked CD from the boy on her left (Pete Goldman, who would be considered a good looking boy if his acne ever cleared up) and then turned to the right and saw Whitley waiting to take it. She froze in place, her breath fogging up the CD and he bent forward with exquisite care, gently poking the tip of his tongue against hers, forcing it back so he could slip it through the hole. His eyes drifted to hers for a split second and it looked like he was trying to smile before he turned and continued the game.

From that moment on, Karina was lost in a starry-eyed daze of puppy love and the afternoon sped by much too fast for her liking. There was more food, the pause as Emily unwrapped her gifts, and then came the next game that changed Karina's life forever.

They played a variation of spin the bottle that, really, was far more appropriate for the age group of Emily's older sister than a bunch of thirteen year-olds. First only the boys were permitted to spin and the one it landed on had to wear a blindfold and go into the closet. Then the girls took their turn and the one the bottle selected had to go into the closet with the boy. That part of the game was called Seven Minutes of Heaven (although most participants at the party would sooner have changed the name to Seven Minutes of Misery as each stood as far apart as possible, anxiously waiting for the oven timer to count down and signal when their time was up). There were some chaste kisses and maybe the odd clumsy grope, but nothing much more happened. Not until the bottle landed on Karina. And it was Whitley who was currently in the closet.

Her head in a daze, Karina was pushed inside the small room by her two friends and she stood in front of Whitley who was patiently wearing his blindfold. She took advantage of the moment and checked him out. He was wearing a red T-shirt and faded bluejeans and his arms were tanned and muscled. She might have made a sound, she wasn't sure, because he suddenly smiled, showing brilliant white teeth and asked, "Do you want to kiss me?"

"I, uhm . . ." she stammered, blushed, and stammered some more. "I-I don't know . . ."

He dropped his head and tilted it towards her. "It's okay. I don't mind. Give it a try, Karina."

"How-how do you know it's me?" That was the whole point of the game, for the boy to figure out who he had been partnered with when they both returned to the main room. Karina was stunned to be picked so easily.

"I've been checking you out all day. And your hair smells like strawberries. C'mon, everybody's waiting. Give me a kiss. Right here." He pointed to his lower lip.

She gave him a quick peck on the chin and pulled back, pressing her fingers to her tingling mouth. It suddenly felt like the temperature in the small space had dropped by about ten degrees.

"That was really nice."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. Why don't you do it again?" he prompted, smiling in that sweet way of his that made her knees want to turn to jelly.

She leaned in again and kissed him directly on the lips, the contact lingering before she began pulling self-consciously away. He put his hand on the side of her face and deliberately pressed his mouth against hers. When her lips opened up with a startled gasp, he thrust his tongue quickly inside her mouth and pulled it out again. When he did it again, her own tongue flicked against the teasing muscle, earning her a loud moan from Whitley. He moved closer and reached down and squeezed her left buttock as they kissed deeply, each exploring the other's mouth, no longer hearing the giggles and whispers of the teens pressed against the other side of the door.

Karina's entire system was swimming in an adolescent stew that was raging to a full boil as she got swept up in the moment. It wasn't like she thought her fist kiss would be, not all of it. She couldn't understand why she was feeling so cold when she'd always imagined she'd feel the opposite. She thought it was just her imagination until Whitley pulled away from her and shivered, muttering out from between clattering teeth, "H-holy crap. Did someone just t-turn on an air c-conditioner?"

He was still wearing his blindfold and that was a good thing because Karina realized that she was glowing bright blue. That aura faded as soon as her hand dropped to the doorknob and she burst out of the room, almost bowling over a few of the would-be voyeurs. She fled the party in a mad panic, not even sparing the time to wish Emily a Happy Birthday, and ran all the way back home.

When she collapsed on the sofa, she swept Sofia, the family cat, into her arms and started crying into the animal's fur. Her power activated for the second time that day, triggered by her raging emotions, and she froze the poor thing solid in a matter of seconds. It wasn't like how it was portrayed in the movies and comic books; it wasn't a case of temporary cryogenics where the subject returned to life as soon as it was thawed out. Despite a sink full of hot water and the use of her hairdryer, Sofia remained one dead pussy.

Karina was utterly mortified by the act. Her parents less so. They had just discovered their daughter was a NEXT and the dollar signs flashed in front of their eyes. All that mattered to them was how to best capitalize on this amazing revelation.


	7. Fire Emblem

Nathan Seymour was probably the only person on record who had ever tried to initiate his own NEXT transformation and successfully managed the act.

He had always been different since he was a small boy. No G.I Joe action figures for him, no playing sports. He was more than content playing with dolls and playing dress up with his younger sister. There was nothing the two liked more than getting into their mother's cosmetics drawer and giving each other makeovers. By the time he turned seven, his father had given up trying to make him more masculine and moved out of their apartment in Detroit, Michigan, never to be seen again.

Nathan didn't identify himself as male even as an adolescent. He wore girl's clothes to school and insisted he be called Natalie. He actually got away with it until he entered junior high and then the bullying got so bad his mother had no choice but to pull him out and choose home schooling. Nathan was quite fine with that arrangement and directed his own lessons with studious care. He became obsessed with knowledge and finished his course load a year earlier than if he'd gone to public school. It immediately qualified him for a scholarship at Wayne State University.

He chose to live off-campus with two other women. He sampled a wide variety of subjects before deciding on Business as his major. He became obsessed about the stock market and studied bell curves and flow graphs until he was almost cross-eyed. He worked evenings at a thrift store and had a little money saved away and decided to try his hand at investing. At the very least, it would make for an interesting term paper for his economics professor to read. As things turned out, the concept of knowing when to bid low and sell high came with almost supernatural ease for him. By the end of his first year at university, he had enough money to buy the thrift store he was working at. He turned it into a coffee shop and added a few computers and Internet access. By accident or design he ended up creating one of the first Cyber Cafés on record and was bought out by a chain for seven figures. This all happened before he turned twenty-one.

He effortlessly went on to bigger and better ventures, all of them successful, but remained at college determined to get his Master's Degree. While he was taking Marketing there was something that the professor said that seemed to strike a chord with him: "The coordinating elements of a successful marketing scheme vary according to its consumer base but for one identifying characteristic: You must have an original product to market."

By that time, everybody knew about Mr. Legend and the other Heroes of Stern Bild city. The word "NEXT" was always guaranteed to generate a reaction, be it positive or negative. It was the buzz word of the decade.

Nathan wondered how he could make it work in his favor.

In what little spare time he actually had, he acquainted himself with the microbiology department and studied some of the more compelling research notes gathered on NEXT genetic studies. He began dating one of the associate professors (he did it more to get information than for pleasure, but Nathan was a gifted multi-tasker and enjoyed doing both). The man, Marcero Tremblay, was beginning to make great strides into the field of phylogenomics. He maintained that the mutant NEXT gene was not a dormant sequence under repression at all. It was coming to life as a repair protein to make up for inadequacies in the active DNA.

They were lying in bed together as Marcero explained this and Nathan turned his head to look at him. "What are you saying? That it represents some new stage of human evolution?"

"No, that's not what I mean," his lover said. "I think something is weakening our active DNA and the NEXT gene is activating to try and fix it and make it stronger. It's all theory, of course. But in all of the documented cases so far, it seems to react to a stress trigger."

"A stress trigger like what, precisely?" Nathan queried.

"That's the thing. It's impossible to quantify because all people have different things that set them off. It could be hormonal, it could be a physical or mental trauma, or the reaction to a phobia. They're all documented triggers but what might affect me, probably wouldn't faze you. It's all subjective. What I do know is that science has determined that anxiety levels for people in industrial nations is going through the roof. When you lay a NEXT graph over that, you start to see a pattern. I think what's happening is that we're not evolved enough to handle all of this extreme sensory input we're now taking in on a daily basis and the NEXT protein is activating in people to try and make up for the lapse. The problem is that it's still a mutated gene and reacts differently in almost anyone, hence the strange powers."

"And the blue glow and eyes? What's the explanation for that?"

Marcero was silent for a long time before finally admitting, "Like I said, it's just a theory."

Still, it all gave Nathan much food for thought and he didn't think his lover was too far off the mark. The words "stress trigger" stuck on his mind. He became obsessed with the notion of becoming a NEXT and of basing a business around it. Perhaps even a corporation. A person couldn't buy publicity like that! It was an original, marketable product just like his old professor had once instructed.

He knew the NEXT odds of lowly physical mutations versus active flamboyant powers. He didn't care. He already had it all thought out: The power to make his nails grow long? Create a business centering around fake nails. Something to do with skin? Cosmetics (he was really pulling for that one). Physical deformity? Specialized clothing chain. For every conceivable power that could possibly activate, Nathan had a business idea that was ideally suited to it. That was the quality of his particular genius.

He set about doing everything he could to try and get the recessive gene to activate. His friends were all convinced that he had lost his damn mind. He placed himself deliberately in danger every chance he got, taking on a rough lover (or three), goading homophobes into fights, he tried rock climbing, scuba diving, and sky diving. Hell, he even bought a race car and competed in rallies. Nothing worked. The problem was his own suave nature. He took all things simply in stride and was unflappable in the face of virtually any crisis. After two years of risking his life, with only the dismaying number of scars to show for his efforts, he decided that he'd best abandon this particular scheme before it killed him and chalk it up as his first loss.

He was still in the doldrums when he showed up at his office unannounced one afternoon. His personal secretary, a woman named Gladys, was stunned at his appearance and clearly uncomfortable. It didn't take long for Nathan to notice why. ". . . Are you wearing my Issey Miyake cashmere blazer?" he asked, staring at her in stunned disbelief.

The woman looked down at herself, as if noticing it for the first time, and managed a small nod. "Yes, Mr. Seymour. I-I didn't think you'd mind?"

"Not mind? That was a fall Paris line original." Nathan's voice lowered in pitch as he suddenly roared, _"Bitch! You got an ink stain on the lapel!"_ His eyes flashed blue and fire burst around his clenched, trembling fists.

Just like that, Nathan managed to accomplish the impossible.


	8. Sky High

One way or the other, Keith Goodman was determined to fly the skies. At eighteen, he fully intended to follow the footsteps of his father, a noted fighter-pilot stationed at Edwards Air Force Base in California.

His high school football coach and several recruiters were almost in tears over the prospect to losing the teenager to the armed forces. Keith was an athletic phenom in virtually all sports he participated in, excelling at Track & Field but most famously noted for his dazzling switchbacks as the school football team's wide receiver. He had his pick of any scholarship to any university in the country and he turned them all down. Representatives even arrived at his house making tempting offers from places that had teams with such names as Notre Dame and Stanford Cardinal. There were promises of generous housing allowances, vehicles, hell, even his pick of weekly prostitute if he would just sign on the dotted line and play ball for _them_. Smiling in that vacuous way of his (the result of perhaps too many concussions while not wearing a helmet) Keith turned them all down as politely as he could, explaining that the week after graduation he was scheduled to report to the Lackland Air Force Base in Texas and begin his eight-and-a-half-week Basic Military Training. It had all been arranged with his recruiter in Los Angeles, who Keith had visited a year earlier to make arrangements.

Back then, looking over the teenager's school records, the recruiter thought he had been the victim of a cruel practical joke. Here was this blond, blue-eyed All-American Adonis perfectly content to throw away wealth, fame, and all the pussy he could pork simply so he could follow his family's legacy. Was he for real? It quickly became apparent that Keith wasn't interested in money, or recognition, and blushed when he spoke about girls, and it was about at that time the recruiter looked at the teen's transcripts and realized the kid had the I.Q. of an Irish Setter. It pretty much cinched the deal. "We're grateful to have you join us," the recruiter said at the end of the meeting and he meant it. Like all people who had the good fortune of meeting Keith, he was left with a great first impression and the teen's ditzy personality always brought a smile to one's face. He was unconsciously charismatic, oblivious about his good looks, and completely without guile. The recruiter figured if the Training Instructor at boot camp didn't break him like a twig, he'd make a damned fine addition to the Air Force (although, personally, the recruiter didn't think the kid would ever be permitted to get his hands anywhere near the joystick of a jet, probably not even into a simple Test glider, but that wasn't his call to say so out loud. Telling impressionable young people the truth was bad for business).

So, for his final senior year, Keith went through the motions of school and sports and spent the remainder of his free time staring up at the clouds, often tracing the contrails of passenger jets until they became fuzzy and indistinct. He liked it best when he was outside alone on sunny afternoons, feeling the warm wind flow over and across his body like a lover's caress. It was at times like these when he developed erections, and sometimes even came hard into his jeans, all without ever having to use his hand. He let the varying wind currents do that pleasurable act for him and he always whispered, "Thank you" to the surrounding air when it was done. It had been like this for him since as far back as he could remember and was one of the chief reasons he had never been particularly interested in dating (his mother just figured he was gay and was perfectly fine with it. His father just wished Washington would get off their collective asses about the "Don't ask, don't tell" military policy . . . just in case his wife was right). In pure, scientific parlance Keith was asexual but, in the blond's simple way of thinking, he had simply surrendered his body to a far superior force and was content to keep things that way.

Half of the people in the town he lived in seemed to turn up for his going-away party. The next day his plane was landing at the Forth Worth International Airport in Dallas, Texas. As he was beginning to scan the transit information looking for a bus that would take him south to Austin (Lackland was located on the outskirts) Keith suddenly frowned and moved over to the nearest window, staring at the sky with a bewildered expression on his face and his head cocked to one side. After a few minutes he ran over to the woman sitting at the transit counter. "I need to go-go-" he wasn't sure which way he was facing and pointed in a specific direction.

". . . To the bathroom?" the woman ventured, eying him curiously.

"No! I need to travel-" he urgently gestured again, "That way!"

"You mean north?"

"Yes!"

"To, like, where exactly? Oklahoma City?"

"Is that north?"

"Yeah-"

"Then yes. Yes! I want to go to Oklahoma City in the north!"

The woman raised her eyebrows and gave him a ticket (charging him the "special" fare), and directed him to the airport terminal where that specific bus was schedule to depart. Keith was off like a shot, forgetting to retrieve his suitcase from baggage claim in his haste to catch the bus. As the Poseidon Line bus pulled out of the parkway and headed for the interstate that would take it out of the city, Keith was vibrating in his seat like a tightly coiled spring, his blue eyes trained to the sky. He had never paid much attention to the weather channel on television didn't realize why he was reacting so strongly to this location. A meteorologist could have told him that he was in a place called Tornado Alley and, according to Doppler radar, a massive front was building south of Oklahoma City. Keith didn't need to be told the specifics. The wind already had already done that.

The bus took the I-35 and was no sooner across the river that separated McClain County from Cleveland County when the driver got a call from dispatch and quickly pulled over to the side of the road. He picked up the mike and said, "Folks, I've just gotten word of a tornado sighting in Norman so we're going to sit tight here until I get the go ahead to continue."

There were a few disgruntled comments from the twenty or so people on the bus but not much more than that. Nobody sane wanted to get anywhere close to such an event. Well, nobody except for Keith, anyway. He got out of his seat and went up to the driver. "How far is Norman?"

"About ten or so miles. Look there, you see that cloud formation?" The driver was pointing to a distant supercell that had a clearly defined flat bottom. "Beneath that thing is the town of Norman, my friend. We're well set to stay put right here."

"Let me out."

"What?"

"I want to get out!"

"Listen here, friend. I can't let anybody off this bus if I suspect they're going to go and do something foolish. You're my responsibility and you're going to stay put! You hear?"

Keith put his face directly into the other man's and declared, "You let me out of here right now or I-I'll, I'm going to-to-"

"You're gonna what, boy?"

_"I'll spank you!"_

The driver looked at him, blinked twice hard, and wordlessly opened the door. Keith exited the vehicle and took off down the highway in a mad sprint.

"God, I hate Californians," the driver muttered under his breath.

Being an athlete, it didn't take Keith very long before he entered the danger zone. The color of his surroundings seemed to have adopted a sickly yellow tinge and a sudden, brief rain shower swept past, soaking him to the skin in a matter of seconds. It turned briefly to a hail volley before the wind came up.

Keith felt the formation of the tornado before he ever saw it. His skin tingled, raising gooseflesh all over his body (among other things). He felt the air currents begin to warp and change, speeding up and coalescing into a visible whirling vortex that began in the heavy underside of the dark clouds and spread downwards like some ephemeral alien proboscis. It started as a weak F0 rope tornado, simply ripping up dirt in a ballpark across from the highway, but began to grow in size and power at amazing speed. The scream of the wind became a lower pitched, piercing howl that was the tornado's version of a birth cry. Keith was clearly hypnotized by the cyclonic rotation of the churning twister and probably would have remained just standing there watching it all unfold if someone from behind him hadn't called out, "Get in!"

He flinched in surprise and looked over his shoulder and saw that a news van had pulled up alongside of him. A cameraman was leaning out of the passenger window and filming the storm. "It ain't safe here, buddy. Get in the van. We have to get out of here!" the driver shouted out of the rolled down window.

"Why would I leave? She's beautiful!" Keith yelled back.

The driver turned away, spoke briefly to his associate, and then poked his head back out. At the same time, the camera was trained on Keith now. "Hey, buddy. This is no way to check out. The world is still a beautiful place," the man said in a softer voice. "Just come into the van with us and we can get out of here and talk about it like-"

"Holy shit, there it goes!" the cameraman shouted.

Keith looked back and released a sickly moan.

The tornado had swelled to almost five hundred feet across and was plowing into the town of Norman. There was the riotous sound of sirens wailing back and forth, horns honking, and swamping it all was the thunderous cacophony of the tornado itself, smashing through office buildings and hotels like they were a child's blocks. The twister cut a swath of destruction through Robinson Street and was making a direct beeline towards University Boulevard, bearing down on the largest university in the state. Cars were trying to drive away from the deadly vortex, people were scattering in all directions, and the tornado engulfed them all without pause, ripping more buildings apart.

"ENOUGH!" Keith screamed, managing to drown out the noise for that split second. The driver and cameraman looked at him and all of a sudden the driver yelled to his partner: "Get that! Are you getting that?"

"I got it!" the cameraman shouted back, looking through the view screen of his video recorder.

Keith was glowing bright blue. A circular motion of air began at his feet and slowly moved up his body, making his legs indistinct in the growing vortex. All of a sudden he was rising up, up into the air in a deliberate course towards the tornado.

What he saw with his eyes didn't tell the true story of what was happening here. Keith read the air currents, following the conflicted flows with his mind's eye and spotted the rear flank downdraft at the base of the supercell that was spawning this destructive abomination. That was the wellspring that needed to be attacked. Choke off the air supply and the tornado will weaken and die. The winds told him so.

Like a sculptor playing with invisible clay, Keith manipulated a stray gust of wind into a compact sphere and threw it like a football. It hit the top of the tornado precisely where it was connected to the storm base and exploded, severing the connection. The mesocyclone was unable to draw strength and reform as the thunder clouds roiled with the displaced energy. Below it, the tornado immediately began losing definition as it went into the dissipating stage and began to shrink and grow transparent. The low rumble of its vortex turned into a strangled wail.

Watching the tornado's death-throes gave Keith absolutely no satisfaction. Tears rolled unnoticed down his cheeks as he said over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry but you were hurting people." He was oblivious that he was still hovering in the air, and manipulating the wind into a weapon had felt so natural that he hadn't yet questioned it.

He was dimly aware that shingles and wreckage were beginning to rain down from the sky all around him. The tornado's debris field was no longer being held aloft as the winds died down and now gravity was taking over. He didn't see the chunk of a Poseidon Line billboard that slammed into him at better than thirty miles and hour, slapping him out of the sky like a huge flyswatter. He certainly didn't felt the following impact with the ground.

Following that incident in Norman, Keith was in a coma for almost three weeks before he finally woke up, staring at the anxious faces of his parents. He missed his deadline at Lackland but it was a moot point. He wasn't going to be running boot camp drills any time soon, if ever. The impact with the sign and his rough landing had been devastating. His right arm was in a cast all the way to his armpit and he had a broken pelvis and dislocated hip. His nose had been badly broken and would probably require reconstructive surgery. The worst news to Keith's ears was that the impact had damaged his left eye and messed with his depth perception. The doctors told him it was most likely permanent.

He was never going to be a pilot. Like a stricken jet, his heart's desire crashed and burned to ashes.

As he lay in the hospital recovering, depressed and miserable, he got a visitor one afternoon. The man, who was bald and had a beard and dressed in an immaculate steel gray-colored suit, introduced himself as Abdullah Stane. He was the director of Poseidon Line's Hero Division.

Keith squinted at the business card the man offered him. He was still having problems with his vision. "I'm sorry I hurt your billboard," was all he could think of saying. Why else would the man be here?

"I don't care about that. I just want to make sure you're okay. Is there anything I can get you? Is there anything that you need?"

"Why would you care?" Keith asked, on the verge of tears.

"Because I watched the tape of what you did in Norman. You're a powerful NEXT, young man, and I want you to come work for us in Stern Bild."

One door closes, another opens. Life was an amazing thing. As the two continued to talk, Keith eventually began smiling again. He was still smiling when he was crowned King of Heroes five years later.


	9. Wild Tiger

Of all of the Heroes, it was probably Kotetsu T. Kaburagi who resented the manifestation of his powers the most, although he certainly couldn't fault the timing.

As a whole, the first eight years of his life had been really good ones. He was an outgoing, cheerful boy who made friends easily. He was the type of kid who graciously shared his bento with schoolmates who perhaps weren't as fortunate as he was. He had also adopted the habit of fearlessly standing up to bullies whenever he saw someone being picked on. For his young age he was tremendously strong. This was proven as fact when he recently beat his brother, Muramasa, who was ten years older, at arm wrestling. It was such an amazing, unexpected victory that he told _everyone_. His humiliated older sibling was brilliantly pissed about the whole affair and, and a result, was barely on speaking terms with him any more.

Added to the household tension was the fact that their father was almost fifty years older than Kotetsu and had very little patience (or interest) in his youthful antics. The old man favoured Muramasa who was, by virtue of his age and disposition, quieter and more mature to deal with on a daily basis. Realizing that he was lacking a positive male influence in his life, Kotetsu's mother enrolled him in Oriental Town's Youth Center. Working there were volunteer councillors who offered mentorship to boys who needed someone to talk to and associate with. At the very least it was a place to hang out, play pool, read comic books, or play video games in a relaxed, supervised environment.

Kotetsu went there after school a few times a week and, while he was getting a feel for the place, he became acquainted with one of the volunteers, a man named William Booth. Will was new to the area, clearly not Asian, and quite vocal of the fact that he felt like a duck out of water in his new environment. Incited by his natural desire to help people, Kotetsu took to him immediately. Taking advantage of the boy's gentle, good nature Will easily gained his trust and became his close friend and confidant. It wasn't uncommon for the two to go hiking somewhere on weekends or go to the movies or eat out. Will's presence filled the void that Muramasa and his father created with their indifference and Kotetsu was pitifully grateful for the attention.

One night after seeing a movie, Will invited Kotetsu back to his apartment. Still raving on about the film (they had gone to see Ghostbusters), the boy accepted the offer without hesitation. They settled down on the chesterfield making small talk in front of the television for a while before Will said, "Hey, would you like to see a real movie?"

Sipping from a can of pop, Kotetsu blinked at him in bewilderment. As far as he was concerned they had already seen a real movie. "What d'you mean?"

"It's kind of hard to describe. Let me show you," he said and slid a cassette tape into the VCR and hit the "play" button.

Kotetsu was disappointed after a few short minutes. As far as he was concerned all that he saw on the screen was naked wrestling because he was still at an age where anything with breasts was viewed as an object of respect, nothing more or less. Not that the men on the screen were precisely 'respecting' the women. In all honestly, the boy didn't know _what_ they were doing with the women. It all looked repetitive and painful.

The movie clearly had a different effect on his much older friend. "This is what guys like to watch when they're alone together," Will said, sliding closer beside Kotetsu until their hips were almost touching.

The youth cast him a curious, sidelong look. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, if they're really good friends. You're my friend, aren't you?"

"You know I am!" the boy cried indignantly.

Will unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his fly. He pulled out his cock and gave it a few quick strokes until it was standing up on his own. "Touch it, Kotetsu."

Entirely flummoxed by this sudden turn of events, the boy could only stare at him. And it.

"You're my friend, right? At least, you said you were. This is what friends do for each other. Just touch it. It doesn't bite," Will said and actually laughed, ruffling the boy's hair in an affectionate caress.

Kotetsu raised a tentative hand but couldn't bring himself to go any further. For some reason this felt all wrong to him although he couldn't understand why. He was eight years old and the year was NC 1950. In this day and age, things of this nature were simply never talked about or made public knowledge. He had never been warned it could happen, had never been told such people even existed, he had no basis to make any kind of judgment call. He was further conflicted by the fact that it had been his own _mother_ who had sent him to the Youth Center, where Will worked, in the first place. That meant this all had to be normal. Right?

Sensing his indecision, Will grasped his hand and placed it against his erection, curling the boy's fingers around the base. "That's it, Kotetsu," he rasped, guiding the small hand slowly up and down. "Just like that. You're such a great friend, you know it? You're really helping me out and that's what friends do for each other. They help each other out." While he praised the boy he kept his hand tightly clasped over the other, relishing the contact and going through the motions until he finally climaxed. Kotetsu managed to wrench his arm free at that first spurt of fluid. "Gross!" he cried, wiping his hand on the sofa with a grimace of distaste.

Will just laughed. "That's what they do when they're happy."

"Well, mine doesn't!"

"You're still just a kid," Will said, wiping himself off with a tissue and tucking his shrinking prick back into his pants. "That's not to say that you can't feel almost as good. I can help you with that." He dropped his hand down directly on the boy's crotch. "Would you like me to s-"

Kotetsu jumped to his feet, forcing his embarrassed, flushed face down at the carpet as he said in an unsteady voice, "I want to go home."

Will didn't argue the point. He shut off the VCR and television and paused long enough to kiss Kotetsu on the top of the head, whispering, "You're the best friend I ever had." He then moved towards the door shouting, "Let's go! The Booth taxi awaits!" as if nothing ever happened. Kotetsu was so confused by the events of the evening that, come morning, he was beginning to have doubts about what he had seen and done.

He stayed away from the Youth Center after that, brooding over the incident with uncharacteristic silence. Once, he tried to approach his father with his questions but one look at that impatient, disinterested face killed his bravery. He sought out his brother next and, after much stalling and stammering, managed to ask, "Is it true that guys like to-to hang out and watch movies together? I mean, like, older guys? Older than you, even? Have you ever-?"

"We do when we have an annoying younger brother at home always asking stupid questions," Muramasa huffed and chased him out of his room, slamming the door shut in his face.

Kotetsu's mother soon noticed that her son was avoiding the Youth Center. "What happened? How come you're not going there anymore? Did you get into a fight with one of the volunteers?"

"I didn't do anything!" he shouted at her, tears springing to his eyes. That, alone, should have been an indicator that something was seriously wrong. Instead, it just angered the harried woman and she immediately rounded on him. "Whatever you did, you're going to go back there and apologize."

"Huh? But _mom-!_"

"No buts! It's a nice, friendly place for you to go to after school and stay out of trouble. Those people are there out of the kindness of their hearts. They don't get paid for their time or their effort and they don't need boys like you giving them grief. Like it or not, you're going back!"

Three against one in his own house. Even a boy as bad at math as Kotetsu was knew that those were lousy odds. He went back to the Youth Center the next day and of course, Will was there to greet him as if they were still great pals. After a couple of visits, Kotetsu was almost willing to forget the entire thing had ever happened. Until, of course, he got lured back to Will's apartment and it all happened again.

The same disarming conversation. The same movie playing on the television. This time Will pulled off his jeans and freely masturbated in front of the boy, telling Kotetsu how great their special friendship made him feel and all of the wonderful things they could do together to make it even better. Silent and miserable, thinking about his frustrating attempts to articulate this to his family and the way they had rebuffed him without even trying to listen, Kotetsu did as he was instructed.

It went on for weeks.

Kotetsu's growing moodiness began getting him into trouble. At school, he started getting low marks on tests and detentions for his bad attitude against the teachers. He began sassing back at his father and getting the belt more and more often. He was picking fights with Muramasa. He was disobeying his mother. In his own way, he was lashing out against all of the people who should have been preventing what was happening to him at Will's apartment. They should have realized that something was wrong even if he was unable to articulate the reasons for the shame and self-loathing growing inside of him day by day. Somebody should have come forward to help- To at least _ask_ him if everything was all right- but nobody ever did. That was how, at the young age of eight, it became imprinted on Kotetsu that his problems didn't matter to anyone else and they were something he would have to struggle to deal with all on his own. Because people didn't care. Not really. They said they did, but they lied.

Having somewhat emotionally surrendered to his fate, Kotetsu passively returned to Will's apartment after an afternoon at the Youth Center, mentally preparing himself for what was to come next. This time, Will put a spin on things and gave the boy a can of beer instead of his usual Coke. The Kaburagi family business revolved around alcohol and Kotetsu would be lying if he said that he hadn't sneaked a taste of wine or spirits the odd time, just to see what all the fuss was about. He drank two cans in short order and became abysmally shitfaced. This time he didn't fight too much when Will forced him to perform a blow job, and he didn't bother to argue when Will went down on him afterwards. It wasn't until he was lying on his stomach and felt his pants and underwear tugged down past his ankles that he began to actively process what was going on. ". . . Hnh? Wha's you doin?"

Will was running his hands back and forth along his back. "Don't worry, Kotetsu. We're finally getting to the best part now. Just relax. That's what good friends do."

Kotetsu thought he was going to get a backrub and that seemed innocent enough. Hell, his mother still did that sometimes, particularly on hot summer days when he was outside without a shirt and she rubbed suntan lotion into his skin. Her hands were always so soft and warm and it felt really good-

-Except this wasn't feeling good. Will's hands had left his back and were now between his legs, doing strange things down there, touching him in weird places. All of a sudden Kotetsu lurched forward with a sharp cry. "_OW!_ Hey! What're you doin? What-"

"It's okay, it's okay," Will panted, his entire body shaking with excitement. "How does this feel?"

"_It hurrrts!_ Lemme up-" Kotetsu tried scrambling away only to be forced down into the cushions by the weight of Will's heavier body. The action made that wide, blunt intruder move further inside of him and Kotetsu shrieked in pain. He braced his arms against the sofa and pushed up with all of his strength, bucking the man off his body. _"Get off me!"_ he screamed.

Will made the mistake of trying to restrain the boy again. He caught sight of a livid blue glare an instant before a compact glowing fist collided with his jaw hard enough to shatter it on impact and send him flying across the room. Will slammed up against the wall hard enough to leave an imprint of his body in the plaster before slumping to the carpet, unconscious and bleeding. Still in a shock-addled alcohol-induced rage, Kotetsu brought his arm down in the VCR that sat on top of the television, cutting both almost in two, and then picked up that cursed, hated sofa and threw it through the locked front door. It flew outside of the apartment and landed on Will's car, demolishing both.

Kotetsu tore the apartment to pieces, screaming at the top of his lungs until that manic rage abandoned him as quickly as his sudden new powers. He fell to his knees and began sobbing, his small form succumbing to a bewildering mixture of fear, pain, and shock. It wasn't until he heard the first of sirens that he willed his limbs to start moving. He managed to pull his clothes back on and slipped out of the window in the back bedroom. Just before the first police cruiser pulled up to the building he made it across the parking lot and hid in some bushes. The police were joined by several other units, including an animal control van (Kotetsu's tantrum had caught the attention of the entire building and someone, hearing his raw screams, had reported that it sounded like some wild animal was loose in the complex), a fire truck, and an ambulance.

Several cops were investigating the ruined sofa and dented car. Another was regarding the huge hole where the apartment's front door had been. The waiting paramedics were called up to the unit and a couple of firemen followed. Kotetsu could hear their stunned exclamations at what they saw all the way over to where he was hiding. He looked down at his hands uneasily. He was pretty sure he had been glowing but had been so drunk and angry he wasn't entirely certain. Whatever the case, he was strikingly sober now and witnessing the destruction he had caused with conflicted thoughts, starting to cry again. On the one hand, he felt a gloating satisfaction at what he had done, but on the other he felt a wave of crippling guilt. He had hurt someone, probably very badly, and that didn't sit well with him despite the circumstances that had led up it. What Kotetsu felt most at that moment was grief: For the man he had thought was his friend; for losing control. The majority of it was for that intangible piece of childhood that was now and forever stripped away from him. A piece once happily nestled between innocence and trust.

He would never tell anyone about what had happened to him here. He forced the memories deep down into the cellar of his subconscious and locked the door, mentally throwing away the key. Afterwards, whenever his powers activated, he would feel shame and a vague sense of nausea, but all that gradually went away as he got older. That was the virtue of his peaceful, simple-minded nature and his ability to gain strength from adversity. He moved on with his life. He eventually made friends, married, had a kid. He became a Hero who was more interested in people than points, because he had a unique insight into suffering.

Because he had been there. And that made him the best Hero of them all.

* * *

><p>End.<p> 


End file.
